#having bugs in ur sink all the time isn’t normal

[lilgynt]

i know the roaches own my house but like i’m paying them rent kind of own it

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 3/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: again, fucking bowled over by the love and support this has had so far. i cannot thank any of u enough, ur all absolute wee diamonds in the sky. hope u enjoy this one- we’re in January for this one, where the girls have to deal with the consequences of December…and Tayce is tasked with keeping a secret for Lawrence.

last chapter: September- On a damp, bright Saturday in September, six flatmates move into their student flat and meet for the first time.

this chapter: January- Tayce and A’whora still have unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December. But it’s only awkward if they make it awkward…right?

***

Tayce is pretty sure she’s going to combust if something doesn’t happen soon.

It’s been a month and a week since A’whora kissed her, and twenty-four hours shorter than that since Tayce kissed her in return. Or thereabouts, it’s not like she’s counting. It’s not like it’s been consuming her every thought every waking moment of the day or anything.

In all fairness, Tayce seems like it’s an achievement to think about a kiss for that length of time. Especially through her first semester essay deadlines, Ellie’s raucous eighteenth, her first Christmas back home, her first New Year seeing all her old school friends after uni and updating Cheryl and Cara on everything. She’d drunkenly come out to Cheryl too after being gently encouraged and supported by Cara, and they’d both cried as Cheryl held her and confessed that since uni had started she’d also begun seeing a girl she really liked too.

It’s funny how at uni everybody seems so much more free. Away from a stifling hometown, Tayce and her friends can properly spread their wings and be who they’ve always been but have either not realised it or been afraid to show it. Tayce is the happiest she’s ever been when she’s at the flat with the others in her little bubble of a home away from home, with Bimini’s intelligent insights and Tia’s funny quips, Lawrence’s chaos and Ellie’s kindness and A’whora being…well, her best friend.

Except she’s not really sure that best friends kiss each other like that.

But maybe they do, because since they’ve all come back from home after Christmas A’whora hasn’t mentioned the kisses, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between them. Hasn’t even joked about it with her or in front of the others (which is fair enough, as if Lawrence knew she’d probably tease them about it until they graduated). Tayce is pretty sure that none of the others even know, or at least if they do they’ve not spoken about it.

And the worst part is that A’whora has been absolutely…normal. Fine.

See, Tayce could’ve dealt with any awkwardness- she’d be upfront, bluntly ask A’whora if she wants to forget about it or what she wants the plan for them to be. Even better would’ve been if A’whora had rugby-tackled her the moment she’d got back from Wales and smothered her with kisses, told her how much she’d been thinking about her while they’d both been away. Tayce supposes it’s kind of her fault they never properly talked about it since she’d practically bolted out of A’whora’s room when she’d kissed her that morning, but she’d been nervous in case she’d made everything too weird. A’whora hadn’t seemed to be complaining at the time, though.

In fact that night, A’whora had been up for plenty more than just a drunk kiss. If Tayce thinks about everything she’d said when they were walking home her face still gets hot and she has to squeeze her thighs together. She’s definitely glad they never crossed any of those particular lines when they’d both been drinking, but sometimes when she’s lying in bed at night Tayce lets her hands drift between her legs as she thinks about A’whora telling her how much and for how long she’d wanted her.

Best friends definitely don’t do that.

So Tayce feels guilty spending time with just A’whora these days, the fact that things haven’t been awkward between them somehow being worse than if they were. She’s not been avoiding her per sé, she’s just been finding ways to make sure it’s very rarely the two of them alone together: hanging out in the kitchen with everyone instead of in her room, going to bed when the others do instead of staying up with A’whora, inviting the others to anything A’whora suggests the two of them do together. It’s silly, and Tayce does miss spending time alone with her, but A’whora acting like nothing’s happened while conversely Tayce wants everything to happen hurts her embarrassingly more than she’d care to admit.

Such a time is a lazy Sunday afternoon halfway through the shittiest month of the year, when the weather outside is full of misty rain that’s a recipe for frizzy hair, puddles, and misery. Just to add to the rubbish day Tayce is holed up in her room, watching the grey clouds drift and overlap over each other to create a paint colour chart in the sky as she begins an essay that’s due in a mere five days. It’s been hard to focus on anything when her head is full of her best friend and imaginary scenarios but the prospect of an all-nighter isn’t one that’s particularly desirable either, so she and the ninety-five words she’s written so far are engaged in a stand-off as Tayce waits for the essay to write itself and the word document waits for her brain cells to conjure up any more opinions on “Is art a conveyor of emotion?” (4000 words).  

And then there’s a knock on the door that doesn’t wait for permission to enter and A’whora bounces in. She’s in a pair of grey joggers and a baggy navy pyjama top that she’s tucked in at the waist and rolled up the sleeves of, and her hair is up in a bun that’s had approximately 5% effort put into it apart from the little diamante hair clasp she’s slid through it at the top.

In spite of herself, Tayce can’t help but snort when she sees her. “Only you could make your shitty potato loungewear fashion.”

“Shut up! This is haute couture. This is actually my final project for the semester,” A’whora jokes in return, moves to sit at the foot of her bed and pout at her. “Tayyyce. I’m boreddd.”

Tayce raises an eyebrow at A’whora’s whining from over her laptop screen. “And I’m doing this essay. Find someone else to bug.”

“Don’t be such a hound,” A’whora frowns, falling sideways and landing onto the bed so she’s hugging Tayce’s legs through the duvet, her head resting on her shins. “I’d annoy Ellie but she’s in town with one of her friends from home. C’mon, let’s do a movie day. We’ve not had one in ages. I feel like we’ve barely had any time together since you got back.”

“Just been trying to catch up on all my coursework. It’s not personal,” she lies, her heart sinking only the tiniest bit at the realisation that her attempts at staying out of A’whora’s way have obviously been louder than they’ve been subtle.

“Please?” A’whora bats her lashes, and if it was impossible to say no to her before it’s surely illegal to do so now.

Tayce sighs and closes her laptop, eliciting a smile from the other girl. “Fine. Fine! But you better ask the others, I don’t want them feeling left out.”

It’s a good spur-of-the-moment excuse to make sure Tayce doesn’t have to spend two hours cuddled up next to A’whora while her heart hurts, but she’s confused by the way a small look of something passes over A’whora’s expression. She can’t put her finger on what it is, but A’whora’s agreeing and bounding down to the living room before Tayce can figure it out.

Tayce throws on her dressing gown over her clothes before leaving her room to join her, the blue fluffy one with the narwhal hood that’s complete with a horn on the top. She doesn’t own many embarrassing items of clothing, but this is definitely one of them. It doesn’t matter too much, though. A’whora’s seen her in it before, when she’s been hungover or sad or hangry and on her period.

It’s so funny how she can only have known her five months and still feel closer to her than half of the friends she spent six years with at high school.

In the kitchen, A’whora’s already cheerfully getting organised as Bimini and Lawrence lounge on the sofa lazily. Tia’s not in either- it emerges she’s gone round to Veronica’s, which nobody’s surprised about.

“Main question is, what’re we watching?” Bimini asks. “It’s a lazy Sunday so it can’t be anything that’s too good. I want something I can rip the piss out of while I watch it, y’know?”

There’s some squabbling about film choices as A’whora makes popcorn in the microwave, burns it, then subsequently has to make another packet. It’s eventually decided that they’re going to watch Love Actually despite the fact it’s January, because they all either hate it or like it because of how bad it is and the film will simply be a vehicle for them to yell jokes over.

“Have we got anything to drink? We could make this into like…a day drinking situation,” Lawrence suggests casually.

“You’re not helping the stereotype that all Scottish people are alcoholics at all,” A’whora quips, causing Tayce to let out a too-loud laugh.

“Listen, if you’ve not figured out that I’m a walking talking stereotype by now, A’whora, are we even friends?” Lawrence shoots back, and A’whora shrugs in an unspoken fair enough.

Tayce tilts her head then remembers something. “I actually still have loads of canned cocktails in my suitcase that my Mum got me for Christmas. Haven’t unpacked them yet. Think there’s about…twelve?”

“Ooh, three each? That’s alright!” Bimini smiles, clearly buoyed by the prospect of being slightly tipsy in the middle of the afternoon.

“Right, that’s settled then. I’ll go get them,” Tayce decides. A’whora’s crossing the kitchen before she knows it.

“I’ll help you with them.”

Before Tayce can speak, Bimini gives a snort. “ ‘Ow much do you think canned cocktails weigh, exactly?”

As Lawrence bursts into peals of laughter, Tayce watches as A’whora rolls her eyes at them, then turns on her heel to follow her to her room. Tayce can’t help but be a little wary, though. It does kind of seem like A’whora’s trying to get her on her own, which Tayce wouldn’t mind if she knew where she was coming from. But she doesn’t.

Tayce kneels down onto the floor as she rolls her suitcase out from under the bed, chatting mindlessly as she does so because if she’s talking it means A’whora doesn’t have a chance to bring up whatever she clearly wants to bring up. “I think there’s actually eleven here, you know. Because, uh…I think I drank one of them while I was at home, so we’re gonna need to fight over who gets one less. I don’t fancy my chances in a fight against Lawrence, she’d probably give me…what’s that expression? A Glasgow kiss? She’d give me one of those. Although Bimini, what do you think they’d be like in a fight? You know I think they’ve secretly got a set of knuckledusters, they seem the type. Although when I think about it-”

“Tayce,” A’whora cuts in, forcing her to snap her head up. Her expression is troubled, and a little frown dips on her forehead as she looks at her. “What’s wrong? Why are you being so…I don’t know, weird? Like you want to get rid of me?”

Tayce feels ashamed for being called out on her behaviour, and she can feel her stomach drop as she looks back at the cans in her otherwise empty suitcase. She wants to tell her there’s a reason for the way she’s been acting but A’whora beats her to the punch, murmuring with her head down and not meeting Tayce’s eyes.

“Is this because we kissed?”

“A’whora…” Tayce immediately groans in exasperation, the heat rushing to her cheeks as if she’s been slapped. She’s embarrassed, because she knows she’s got the capacity to talk about this like a grown-up but there’s a part of her that’s cringing, because if A’whora’s about to tell her she regrets it then she’s not sure she’ll ever live it down.

There’s a small silence where neither of them seem to move, let alone speak. A’whora is yet again the one to break it. “I just feel like you hate me all of a sudden.”

Fuck. If there was one thing Tayce had wanted to avoid, it’s this. Even though she herself is hurting she can’t bear the thought of having hurt A’whora’s feelings too, so she frowns, reaches up and squeezes A’whora’s hand which prompts her to look at Tayce. “I don’t hate you, Rory, of course I don’t hate you. I just…”

Tayce looks up to the ceiling as she searches for the right words, even though she’s not really sure what they are. She wants to tell A’whora she’s yearning for something to happen again between them and that even the fact she’s holding her hand is setting her pulse off all too quickly, but now’s not the right time. Besides, she doesn’t even know if A’whora feels the same way. Either way, Tayce can hear A’whora holding her breath, can feel the way her body’s tense beside her, so Tayce finally formulates something that doesn’t sound too hot or too cold.

“…I just don’t know where we go from here, that’s all.”

A’whora visibly relaxes, then shrugs. Her voice is quiet as she speaks. “Well, it’s only awkward if we make it awkward. And I feel like I’ve been okay at not making it awkward?”

Tayce narrows her eyes at her, laughs. “So what you’re saying is it’s all my fault.”

“Yes.”

The pair of the giggle softly and things already seem to have shifted back into comfortable territory. The green of a spring bulb popping up through the snow.

Tayce swallows her not-inconsiderable pride and smiles up at A’whora. She supposes going back to being friends and not ever talking about the fact that they kissed again is better than existing in a tense purgatory for the rest of their time in the flat together, even if it does make her feel a little sinking feeling of disappointment and a sense of mourning what could’ve been. “I’m sorry for being such a…mingebag.”

A’whora cracks up, repeats “mingebag!” incredulously, before her laughter dies down and she gives Tayce’s hand a squeeze in return. “That’s okay. Just good to know you still like me.”

They share a soft smile before piling the cocktails high in their arms, cradling them as if they’re babies as they rush back through to the living room where Bimini and Lawrence are hanging up a huge white sheet on the wall opposite the sofa for the projector. The projector had been Tia’s addition to the flat, an AliExpress purchase that had turned out to not be broken, or unusable, or made for a doll’s house.

“Tia won’t mind us borrowing that, will she?” A’whora asks with concern. Lawrence scoffs, bats a hand in her direction dismissively.

“She’ll be too mouth-deep in Veronica to care when she realises we’ve used it, let’s not lie!”

There’s a cry of disgust at Lawrence’s turn of phrase from the others, and as Tayce sets up the cocktails on the little coffee table A’whora brings the bowl of popcorn through.

“It’s fun to be able to make jokes about Tia and her girl, in’t it?” Bimini chuckles good-naturedly. “Always feel like we can’t properly tease her when Ellie’s there ‘cause she always looks like she’s about to jump out the window any time we mention Veronica’s name.”

The revelation that Ellie has feelings for Tia had come via a drunken, tearful confession to the others the night of her eighteenth birthday, when Tia had left the party with Veronica instead of staying overnight at the flat. Poor Ellie had been so devastatingly upset that the others had seemed to forge an unspoken agreement that the situation wasn’t going to be fodder for flat jokes. Instead they make sure to ask Tia how her budding relationship is going when Ellie isn’t around.

As she and A’whora laugh in agreement at Bimini’s joke, Tayce doesn’t miss the way Lawrence grows uncharacteristically quiet.

“When d’you think Ellie will get over Tia? I mean it’s a shame she doesn’t like her back, but she’ll ‘ave to at some point.”

“She won’t. She’ll just pine after her every day until we graduate,” Lawrence says. It’s meant to be a joke but her delivery is somewhat flat, and Tayce wonders if she’s the only one that picks up on it. From the way A’whora and Bimini are laughing, it appears she has been.  

Bimini and Lawrence step back from the sheet, satisfied with the job they’ve done. A’whora’s busy plugging in the fairy lights Ellie strung up where the wall meets the ceiling a few months ago, and Tayce can’t help but think to herself that sacking off her essay was a good idea as she glances at their setup. Never let it be said that their flat does things by halves.

“Oh! We should bring duvets through. And blankets,” A’whora suggests, and Tayce’s heart is both warmed and hurt by how adorably enthusiastic she is about the whole endeavour. She wishes she could shake the lingering feeling of disappointment she’s got in her gut at the knowledge that they’ll probably never talk about their kiss again; they’ve moved on from it, it was a one-time thing, and it’s only awkward if they make it awkward so Tayce bringing it up would be awkward, right?

So she settles on the sofa with Lawrence while Bimini helps A’whora gather up all their pillows, cushions, blankets and duvets from their respective rooms. Tayce is about to become lost in her own head when Lawrence turns to her with a look in her eyes that Tayce has never seen before. It’s almost conspiratorial and definitely suspicious, and for one horrific moment Tayce is convinced that Lawrence knows everything that happened in December.

“What is it?” Tayce asks her, before her flatmate can even open her mouth. Lawrence sighs, tips her head back to the head of the sofa and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I need to tell you a secret.”

Tayce’s heart drops as if she’s on a rollercoaster. Her mind immediately jumps to A’whora. What’s she told her? What does Lawrence know? It would make sense to wait until A’whora was out of the room before telling her anything. Tayce tries to keep her face impassive as she turns to Lawrence, nods quietly. “Okay, spill.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Tayce,” Lawrence insists, looking at her pleadingly. Tayce promises she won’t, although in retrospect she probably should’ve asked what it was first. The way Lawrence is acting is intriguing, though. It makes Tayce think it’s something about herself if it’s something she doesn’t want the others to know so badly.

“Christ, this is so cringe,” Lawrence groans, dropping her head forward and resting it in her hands. Tayce can still see the pink flush that’s started to dust her face, and by now she’s convinced that this has nothing to do with A’whora and everything to do with Lawrence herself.

Lawrence mutters out something incoherent into her hands. Tayce frowns, humoured. “What?”

A huge huff comes from the girl on the sofa beside her, and as she removes her hands from the front of her face she sticks them to the side of it like blinkers on a horse. It’s the quietest Tayce has ever heard Lawrence speak as she says the secret again. “I’ve got a crush on Ellie.”

Tayce’s face lights up at her friend’s confession. “Do you actually?”

“Christ, don’t make me say it twice. I’ll get struck down.”

Tayce leans into Lawrence, uses both her hands to lightly poke her in the arm. “Look at you! Being cute and having feelings!”

“It’s not, though! It’s not cute at all! It’s just sad!” Lawrence rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. “Because she doesn’t…she’ll never see me like that, and she’s too busy making cow-eyes at Tia all the time anyway, so. It’s pointless, I don’t even know why I’m even hoping for something to happen.”

“Hey, listen! How long do you think Ellie’s gonna be able to keep moaning about Tia when she’s still seeing Veronica? I mean there’s only one way that relationship is going, the only ‘end’ there is in ‘girlfriend’. So Ellie’s gonna have to get over it eventually!” Tayce says supportively, shaking Lawrence’s arm to gee her up. Lawrence bats her away, though, giving another sigh.

“Tayce, it’s not exactly like she’s gonnae suddenly realise that I’ve been here all along! Like some fuckin’ chick flick. I’ve fancied her for years,” Lawrence explains. The information knocks Tayce for six, but when she thinks about it it makes sense- the way Lawrence gently bullies her so much, the way she gravitates towards her all the time, the way she gets quiet if Ellie starts moping about Tia. Tayce had never thought about it in that light before.

Lawrence hugs her knees to her chest as she continues. “Realised I liked her the last time we were at the caravan. And obviously we were at opposite sides of the country but like…I’d still meet up with her in Summer, get the train to Dundee and have sleepovers and all that shite. And when she came into the kitchen on that first day I was so happy she was gonnae be living with us, and I am still happy, because obviously she’s my friend? But like���it’s just shite to know that she’ll never like me back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ellie’s type is obviously tall, dark and skinny. Which…” Lawrence gestures at herself with a deprecative laugh. “…how can I be any of that?”

“Right, for a start! Stop thinking about what you’re not and start thinking about what you are,” Tayce says firmly, gripping her hand tightly.

Lawrence rolls her eyes and fixes her with a pointed stare. “Oh, like what? I’m beautiful on the inside! I know I’m the fat funny friend, Tayce, you can spare me the bullshit.”

“Well…you’re fat, and so fucking what of it? Doesn’t mean you aren’t drop-dead-fuckin’ gorgeous. Being fat and being beautiful aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Very easy for you to say, sat there wearing size eights. Tell that to literally any piece of media we consume. Or any of my brain cells. Even if there are only about ten of them,” Lawrence sighs, then pauses. “I do like the way I look, and I don’t want to change anything about myself. It’s just…several things make that very hard almost all of the time, and it’s tiring to feel like you’re constantly fighting a losing battle. And it’s not like I’m pinning all my self-worth on a girl liking me back, but just…it would be nice to be the one that someone has a crush on for a change, if that makes sense?”

Before Tayce can say anything to affirm how Lawrence is feeling, a movement from down the hall makes her flinch and point at Tayce accusingly. “Not a fucking word, right? Least of all to A’whora, if she knows then I might as well just tell Ellie myself and like fuck is that happening.”

Tayce nods rapidly in a promise as A’whora and Bimini emerge from the hall comedically draped in materials, like a child’s attempt at a dress made out of knitting and featherdown quilts. They all set about arranging everything to make their setup as comfy as possible, and as the film gets loaded up they get comfortable in their respective positions. Lawrence is at one end of the sofa, with Tayce in the middle and A’whora at her side, while Bimini sits on the floor with their back to the sofa because they’re quite happy sitting there with enough cushions and pillows. The big lights are turned off, the film begins, and the room is filled with the soft glow of the fairy lights and the hazy light from the movie and all Tayce can think about is A’whora, warm and soft and squashed up beside her sharing the blanket.  

Tayce feels silly for being so disappointed. This was what she’d wanted- they’d talked about it. They’d addressed the fact that the kiss had happened, and now they were just…moving forward. Not making things awkward. Because obviously to A’whora, the fact it’s happened has made things awkward.

And that shouldn’t hurt Tayce as much as it does.

It’s hard to dwell on things for long, though, when she has block four flat ten’s very own Ant and Dec in her living room. Lawrence and Bimini keep her and A’whora giggling pretty much from the film’s first scene, and they all fall about screech-laughing when Bimini forces them to pause it on a shot of Liam Neeson’s hall in which there’s a horrific blob of a child’s painting on the wall that looks so cursed they just had to point it out.

It’s probably because Lawrence and Bimini are distracting her that Tayce doesn’t initially notice A’whora leaning into her at first until she’s pressed up against Tayce’s side. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. They’ve always sat close before, but this time things feel different. This time it feels as if there’s little sparks of electricity between them, metaphorical manifestations of the anticipation Tayce feels of something she’s yearning to happen.    

So when A’whora bumps her knuckles against Tayce’s, brings her hand over hers and laces their fingers together, Tayce feels as if she’s suddenly evolved into some ridiculous cartoon character; she can practically feel her eyes bulge out of their sockets in shock and she has to stop her jaw from dropping onto the floor. If her heart could comedically fly out of its chest it would. Tayce keeps her gaze steady and focused on the film, blocking out her peripheral vision and not even turning to see if A’whora’s looking at her too. Because if she is it would make everything ten times worse (better?) than it currently is, and Tayce’s head is already in a spin. They’ve held hands before. It’s not like this is different.

But it is. Before they hadn’t kissed. Before A’whora hadn’t told Tayce she wanted to sleep with her. Before all of Tayce’s feelings for her friend were cooped up into neat little boxes in her mind that were so full they were close to bursting, but now they have and now it’s After and so holding A’whora’s hand has gone from usual to extraordinary, routine to electric.  

Tayce hopes A’whora can’t feel the way her pulse is racing because that’ll definitely let her know something is up.

She’s suddenly startled out of her overthinking by a tut of disapproval from Lawrence. “How many fuckin’ couples are in this film and there’s not one single lesbian?”  

“Lesbians didn’t exist in 2003, remember?” Bimini deadpans, causing A’whora to giggle.

“Yeah, lesbians were invented in 2013 when Orange is the New Black aired.”

“Nah! When did Sugar Rush come out? Mind that programme on Channel 4? I remember watching that through a crack in the living room door when my parents thought I’d gone to bed,” Lawrence recounds excitedly, her enthusiasm at remembering her lesbian awakening making Tayce laugh and relate at the same time.

“For me it was Sophie and Sian. Remember on Coronation Street? They were my first lesbians.”

“At least you all got representation at some stage. If I wanted to see another pan I’d have to watch fuckin’…Kitchen Nightmares,” Bimini rolls their eyes, their joke making the girls howl with laughter and let out cries of consolation.

And then A’whora squeezes Tayce’s hand under the blanket.

Tayce thinks only for a second before squeezing it back, and subsequently doesn’t think before turning and looking at her friend beside her. A’whora shoots her a little smile that if Tayce didn’t know better she’d say was innocent, but the twinkle in her eye and the way she shuffles herself to lean closer against her and tuck her other hand into the crook of Tayce’s elbow makes her heart give a judder like she’s been crashed into from behind.

She supposes it’s only awkward if she makes things awkward, just like A’whora said. So when Tayce gently strokes A’whora’s hand with her thumb, it’s only to illustrate to A’whora that things aren’t weird between them. It’s not to see how the other girl is going to react to that at all. It’s not because being affectionate with A’whora just feels correct and perfect, the easiest thing in the world.

Tayce is holding her breath waiting for A’whora to do something else. Something to raise her hopes, something to show her that maybe she does want something to happen between them again. She wants the film to go on forever and give them infinite time in this no-man’s-land of comfortable tension, because when it ends she knows A’whora will probably just get up from under the blanket and slip away as if everything is back to normal.

When A’whora lets go of her hand, Tayce feels her hopes drop into the pit of her stomach, a rollercoaster coming to a dead stop. The ride is over.

But a second later she wraps her arm around Tayce’s waist, squeezes her close in a hug, and the ride begins all over again. Tayce’s heart rate spikes as she shifts a little, getting comfortable before bringing her arm around A’whora’s middle too and holding her right back.

It’s then that Lawrence’s voice makes Tayce snap her head away from the film, her glazed-over eyes having to focus on her friend who’s regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “Fuck’s going on under that blanket? You two fingering each other?”  

Bimini snaps their head up and yells as Tayce tries to conceal the wave of panic that hits her, rolls her eyes and shakes her head and tells Lawrence that she needs to get her mind out the gutter. She’s sure that being called out will make A’whora flinch away, a woodland animal startled by a twig breaking, but she just giggles and buries her face into Tayce’s side all bashful.

God, Tayce wants to kiss her so much.

The film reaches the scene where Emma Thompson cries in her bedroom to Joni Mitchell, and the sniffing from the floor indicates she’s not the only one.

“Bimini! You said you hated this film!” Tayce laughs, nudging her friend with her foot.

“Yeah, but anyone who doesn’t cry at this scene is a hard-hearted bastard,” they reply, voice thick with emotion.

“Aww, BonBon. It’s okay, I’ve got a little tear as well,” A’whora murmurs from Tayce’s side. She huffs a sigh. “I can’t even believe anyone would fall for that pencil-skirt-wearing cow. I mean, she fucking manspreads and that’s supposed to be some sort of sexy come-on?”

“Aw, and like you could do any better?! We’ve all seen you trying to flirt, it’s embarrassing!” Lawrence cries in outrage.

Tayce is reminded of nights out earlier in the year when A’whora would talk to girls at bars and Tayce would always feel this inexplicable burn in her chest in response. She remembers the unfounded relief when A’whora would come back home to the flat with the rest of them, one-night-stand missions failed, and the churn in her stomach the times when she’d leave with a girl she didn’t know and sneak back into the flat at nine in the morning, ready to tell the others about her exploits from the night before which Tayce never wanted to hear.

She’s really fancied A’whora for a long time, now she thinks about it.

“I could so do better!” A’whora complains, and Tayce isn’t looking at her but she just knows she’s pouting.

Lawrence chuckles, tilting her head in amusement. “Go on then! What would your plan of action be, Miss fuckin’ Womaniser?”

There’s a pause before A’whora says, “Well I’d probably wait until we were both drunk on a night out, do tequila shots with them, drape myself over them, kiss them, then get them to take me back home.”

Tayce thinks she deserves an Oscar for the way she refuses to outwardly react to the way A’whora has essentially just described their kiss from that night out. Inside, however, it’s a different story. She’s not sure it’s possible for her heart to go any faster, and every cell of her body seems to buzz. She can barely hear Lawrence and Bimini laughing in response to A’whora’s comment for the way her blood’s roaring in her ears. Once the others stop paying attention and go back to watching the film, it’s only then that Tayce turns her head, raises one unimpressed eyebrow at A’whora who’s looking up at her with a scheming smirk on her face and a glint in her eye.

And right as she’s looking at her, A’whora closes her eyes and plants a kiss against Tayce’s arm then goes back to watching the movie as if nothing ever happened.

It’s at that point that Tayce feels her mouth dry up, feels something coil tight inside her and a throb between her legs. Something is going to happen the moment the pair of them are alone, she can feel it. There’s no way it can’t. In stark contrast to earlier, Tayce now wills the film to end sooner rather than later.

And it does. Finally. The credits roll, the Beach Boys are playing, and Lawrence slaps her thighs. “Well, that was a heap of shite!”

“I’ve still not forgiven Alan Rickman. God love the dead old bastard,” Bimini shrugs, heaves themself up off the floor and slides their phone out of their back pocket, scrolling busily. “Oh, Ellie’s asking if we wanna come join her an’ Anne for drinks. Apparently they’re in some boujie cocktail bar in town spending all their student loan and need responsible adults to stop them.”

“Why the hell are they asking us then?” Tayce quips, the giggle it elicits from A’whora sending a shockwave down her spine.

“I’m down to go meet them both. I’m already tipsy, might as well go the whole hog and get rat-arsed,” Lawrence says decisively, leaping up from the sofa and fixing Tayce and A’whora with an inquisitive glance. “You two coming?”

Tayce lets go of A’whora’s waist and stretches to make a point. “Nah, babe, I can’t. Got this essay due on Wednesday I’ve not started.”

Bimini snorts. “Yeah, I forgot. You’re dead on it and organised, in’t ya?”

Tayce pulls a face at them while Lawrence asks A’whora.

“Mmph. Think I need a nap before I even think about drinking any more, hun.”

Lawrence eyes them both suspiciously and appears to be about to say something else before Bimini tugs on her arm and distracts her. “C’mon then, let’s leave these two to be boring. Have fun, losers!”

Goodbyes are exchanged between them and Lawrence and Bimini finally leave, the fire door to the kitchen swinging shut and leaving the warm glow of the fairy lights, the blanket, the sofa, and A’whora gazing at her with that shit-eating smirk on her face again.

So Tayce wastes no time in bringing a hand up to her jaw, leaning down and kissing her, and judging by the way that A’whora melts into her and lets out a little happy sigh of satisfaction she’s been waiting for it just as much as Tayce has. They fall together like it’s easy, as if both of the times they’ve done this before have been all the practise they need. A’whora brings her hand to rest against Tayce’s cheek as if she’s trying to somehow pull her closer than she already is, and her neediness makes Tayce giggle against her lips. In turn it sets A’whora off, and when she pulls away their faces are still close and there’s little smiles on each of them.

“What’s so funny, you little bitch?” A’whora smirks, her barbed words cushioned by the way she’s wriggling onto Tayce’s lap and bringing her arms up to circle around her neck just like she did the first time in the club.

“Just you’re kind of giving me mixed signals here, baby. Saying you don’t want things to be awkward and then moving to me the entire film,” Tayce mutters, keeping a playful smile on her face despite the fact her words hold entirely too much truth.

It clearly takes the wind out of A’whora’s sails because she casts her gaze down, pauses before speaking and looking at Tayce from under her lashes. “I didn’t mean that, I just meant…I want us to be able to do stuff and not have it be awkward afterwards.”

Oh.

This is a game changer. So A’whora doesn’t regret anything. She doesn’t want them to go back to the way things were- well no, she does, just with an extra little bit of something more added in. She wants the friendship they have but she also clearly wants Tayce like she wants her back, and the realisation makes Tayce squeeze her thighs together, anticipation now so high she feels scared for her blood pressure.

Tayce tries not to let her realisation show on her face. Instead she looks at A’whora with interest, raises an eyebrow at her in amusement. “What’s ‘stuff’, then?”

“Well, just like…if we’re both horny and in the same flat then it saves us having to swipe Tinder for hours on end only to find a girl with a boyfriend who’s looking to ‘experiment’ and never found another girl’s clit in her life, doesn’t it?” A’whora shrugs blithely despite the blush that’s hit her cheeks, her turn of phrase making Tayce bite back a smile. “Whereas I’ve been told I’m quite good at that.”

The twinkle is back in A’whora’s eye again and the combination of that, her smirk and her words make Tayce’s stomach do a somersault. She can’t let it show, though, can’t let A’whora see her crack so she blinks to maintain her composure, tilts her head with mock-curiosity. “Have you now.”

“Yeah. Could show you if you wanted,” A’whora grins brazenly back at her, shifting a little in Tayce’s lap and sending her into orbit. “Plus I can’t remember if I put on matching underwear this morning, so…you should come help me check.”

Tayce breaks the stalemate to throw her head back in a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Lawrence was right. You actually can’t flirt to save yourself.”

She watches A’whora’s face drop into a pout and instantly feels as if she’s kicked a puppy, so Tayce brings one of her hands up to rest on top of her thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Says a lot for how fit you are that it’s still working though, doesn’t it?”

The pout cracks into a scheming smile, and Tayce matches it before A’whora leans in and kisses it off her face. It’s more heated this time, that little undercurrent of intensity as Tayce runs her tongue over A’whora’s and hears her whimper against her lips. As A’whora pushes her fingers into Tayce’s hair Tayce lets her hands drift around to the small of her back, and the way A’whora keeps shifting needily in her lap only makes Tayce want her more, which she didn’t think was even possible.

“We’ve got a free flat, you know,” A’whora mutters in between little kisses, her voice low as she whispers against her lips.

“Probably a good thing. You couldn’t be quiet if your life depended on it,” Tayce teases, running her fingers over the waistband of A’whora’s sweatpants in an attempt to try and convey how much she needs her.

“Oh, you have no idea, babe,” A’whora smirks before pulling away, ripping her top out from where it’s tucked into her waistband and tugging it off, barely even giving Tayce a chance to react. She’s left in a little black bralet with Playboy logos along a white band at the hem, and Tayce feels her mouth go dry.

She’s really, really hoping A’whora put on matching underwear this morning.

But she’s still taken aback because after all- they’re in the middle of their living room, and any of the others could walk in at any given moment- so she can’t help the way her mouth drops open and the way she lets out a little shocked giggle. “A’whora!”

“What?!” A’whora smiles smugly back at her, clearly glad she’s got the reaction she wanted.

“We’re not shagging on this couch, are you insane?! It’s rotten! Kim Woodburn would have a fit if she saw it!”

“Oh, so we are going to shag?” A’whora regards her with one cocked eyebrow, and Tayce can’t help but mirror it. There’s a pause before she gives a small huff of mock-resignation, sealing their fate.

“God. We’re really doing the whole friends with benefits cliché, then?”

A’whora smirks affectionately at her. “Only awkward if we make it awkward.”

She holds out her pinkie between them and Tayce takes it with a resigned laugh, the childish nature of their promise contrasting deeply with the whole situation.

“C’mon then, bestie, lead the way.”

And as A’whora scrambles excitedly off her lap and Tayce takes the opportunity to smack her ass playfully, she feels her heart soar and her head grow light at the thought of being able to do everything she’s been thinking about doing for over a month with one of her best friends in the world.

She wonders why everyone seems to say that a friends with benefits situation isn’t a good idea. This is already the best decision she’s made in years.

[scoopsahoy]

i just read ur fic about getting pregnant with steve and was wondering if u could write one about the reader and steve struggling for a few years to get pregnant, and she has an emotional breakdown one night bc she doesn't feel like enough for him because it's been pushed on her that women's only jobs are to have kids and shes like "i cant even do that so how am i supposed to please you" and he comforts her and makes her feel better

ぺ  word count ⋰ 2.3k

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ swearing, mentions of sex

✐  masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

You sat on the toilet seat with your leg bouncing, anxiously waiting for the pregnancy test results to show up. This had become a new norm for you: getting pregnancy tests and anxiously awaiting the results. And you were sick of it.

It took a toll on you. Getting a negative result every single month for four years straight was stressful mentally and physically. You’d had a migraine for at least three and a half years, and no medicine helped. You were always nauseous and sick, which your gynecologist said was normal in your situation. You were always tired and sad, which affected your job and your relationship with Steve.

You knew he was just as tired of it as you were, and you knew he was probably exhausted from having to care for you all the time.

It had also taken a toll on your sex life. At this point, you two only had sex to reproduce. You rarely finished and always denied his offers to help you. You would always flip yourself upside down afterward to help the sperm enter your uterus.

You’d both been to the doctor multiple times to see which one of you was fertile. Steve was one hundred percent fertile, while you had less of a chance of getting pregnant that you should’ve had.

You’d been to multiple IVF appointments as well. It wasn’t Steve’s favorite thing in the world to go into a room alone and masturbate to porn to provide sperm samples.

At this point, he didn’t enjoy looking at other women to get off, so you had taken pictures of yourself to give him.

The first few times it was awkward for him afterward, but you assured him there was nothing uncomfortable about it.

You’d probably spent over ten thousand dollars on it, and it was heartbreaking each time it didn’t work.

At the end of the five minutes, you grabbed the test out of the sink, feeling a pain in your heart at the single line.

You tossed it back into the sink as you stood up, feeling tears slide down your face. Your back hit the wall and you slid down until you felt yourself land on your ass.

You pulled your knees into your chest, propped your elbows on them, and put your hands into your palms.

You couldn’t help but sob. You and Steve had been trying for four years to conceive. And, despite everything mentioned, none of it worked. This was one of your last straws, a wave of sadness washing over you.

You both desperately wanted kids, preferably two or three. But at this point, you’d be lucky to even have one.

Steve made it clear that in the end, if you couldn’t have children of your own, he’d be perfectly okay with adopting, or just not having any. And you agreed.

However, you had the longing to create your own child. Everything from the pregnancy, to giving birth, to raising that child from the moment they came out, until the moment they could care for themselves. You wanted that more than anything, but you’d be happy to adopt if you were infertile.

But sitting on the bathroom floor knowing that every effort you made — propping yourself upside down after sex, aforementioned IVF treatments, tracking your cycles, staying healthy, etc. — didn’t work, made your heart hurt.

You wondered if you were good enough for Steve, if you could really give him what he wanted. If he was genuinely happy with trying to have kids for years on end and being unsuccessful. You wondered if that was what he wanted, if he was still happy with you.

Your sobs filled the bathroom, making you glad Dustin wasn’t there.

Dustin was your younger brother, and currently, he was at the arcade. He knew about your struggle to have kids, and he usually tried to help, whether it was with the foods you ate, or getting you vitamins, making sure your mom didn’t keep her alcohol where you could get to it, etc.

You thought it was sweet how much he wanted a niece or nephew, always talking about babysitting them and allowing them into the party.

You always made sure he was gone when you took pregnancy tests. You loved him, but comfort wasn’t his strong suit. Sometimes it would work just because of the effort, but sometimes it would make you feel worse. So, you figured the easiest way to avoid that was to make sure he wasn’t there.

The rest of the party was also anticipating you getting pregnant. Max, Eleven, and Nancy all said they would help her with girl things like periods, dating, and other things boys didn’t understand.

And Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Will, and Jonathan all said they would indoctrinate him/her into their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.

It made you cry the first time you found out how excited they were to have a new member of the family.

But you hated making them wait. Dustin and Robin were the only ones who knew how long you’d been trying, so the rest of them kept jokingly bugging you about them getting a new DnD member.

When Steve got home from work, he found you crying on the bathroom floor. He looked in the sink, seeing another negative test.

He sat on the toilet seat, placing his hands on your knees. He didn’t say anything, he let you talk at your own pace.

“Negative again,” you said, your voice stuffy.

He nodded. “I know.”

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Hey, look at me.”

You pulled your hands from your face, revealing your eyes bloodshot and puffy, your skin soaked in tears.

He stood up and held his hands out for you to take. You pulled yourself up and he cupped your face. He wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, before grabbing a dry cloth and cleaning your face completely.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into a deep hug. You cried into his chest, leaving tear stains on his shirt. He gently pulled you to the bedroom a few seconds later. You sat against the headboard, resting your elbows on your knees. He sat across from you, only a few feet away.

He gripped your hands as you continued crying. It was silent for a few minutes before he continued the conversation.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why can’t I get pregnant?”

“You know that’s not your fault.”

“Is it enough for you? Am I enough for you?”

He furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“If I can’t give you a kid. If I can’t get pregnant, despite everything we’ve done, despite every effort we’ve made... will I be enough? Won’t you want more?”

“Don’t. Don’t even think like that. Don’t say that. Of course, you’ll still be enough for me.”

You softly shook your head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you said that all you want in life is children. You want at least one son and one daughter. And you want to name one of them Dustin, and one of them Robin. And you’ve told me that you want to have a hundred grandkids so you can spoil all of them. And if I can’t give that to you-”

“Stop. Stop talking.” He gripped your hands tighter. “I don’t care. If you can’t give me that, that’s okay. More than anything, I want you. I want you, even if we don’t have a hundred grandkids.”

You felt more tears fall down your face, hitting your legs. He tilted your chin up to look at him.

“Why?” you asked.

“‘Why’ what?”

“Why wouldn’t you want someone who could give you that?”

“Because I don’t want just anybody. I want you. I’d live a thousand lifetimes without kids if it meant I got to be with you.”

“But you want a family.”

“Baby,” he chuckled. “We’re already a family. You and me, we are a family. We don’t need a child to be a family. Hell, we can adopt a dog or a cat if we wanted to. And that would still make us as much of a family as people with kids.”

“But we both want kids. I want kids. I want to be pregnant, I want to give birth, I want to hold the baby after they come out. I want to celebrate their first steps, their first words, their first birthday. I want to do that.” He didn’t say anything. “How am I supposed to please you if I can’t even get pregnant?” you mumbled.

He furrowed his brows. “What?”

“I mean, we’ve always been taught that in marriages, in order to be a good wife and please your husband, you should have kids.”

“Who the hell taught you that?”

You raised your eyebrows. “School, my family, everyone. I’ve grown up hearing that in order to be a good wife to my husband, I have to give him kids and that’s how we’re supposed to please you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never been taught to only expect kids from my wife. They’ve been feeding you that bullshit?” You nodded. “For how long?”

“All my life.”

“I’ve grown up learning from my mom that, even if I don’t have kids with the person I marry, I should find someone that I can’t live without. That’s you.”

“Steve-”

“Y/N, you don’t have to bear a child to please me. I am so madly, deeply, stupidly in love with you. There is nothing you can do to make me not love you. You hear me?” You didn’t reply. “Why do you think I proposed to you and married you?”

“You wanted to start a family, but not outside of marriage. Isn’t that why every guy gets married?”

“Nope. Not even close. I mean, that’s a factor, but do you know the real reason I married you?” You still didn’t answer. “I married you to be with you,” he said as he poked you lightly on the chest. “I married you so I could spend the rest of my life with you. Obviously, I do want a family, but, like I said, I’d go a million years without kids if it meant I got to be with you.”

You were only crying harder now. “Steve-”

“I am so fucking in love with you, Y/N. Do you want to know how long it took me to get that ring-” He pointed to your engagement ring on your finger, which was joined by your wedding band, “after we started dating?” You shook your head. “Three days.”

Your eyes got wide. “What?”

“Yep. Three days into our relationship, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You know why I didn’t propose sooner?” You shook your head again. “We weren’t eighteen. That was the only thing holding me back. I had to wait two years to propose to you because we had to wait until we were adults.”

You looked down at your ring. “They let you buy an engagement ring at sixteen?” you chuckled.

“I guess so. I got it, didn’t I?”

You smiled. “I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you, too.” You squeezed his hands.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we take a break from trying? I mean, we’re only twenty-three. We have time. I know it’s stressing you out. Your head always hurts and you’re always sick. Let’s just wait a little while.”

You nodded. “That would actually be really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can have sex just to have sex, not to make a baby.”

“Absolutely.”

You looked at him and he gave you a small smile.

“I don’t deserve you,” you said, your voice cracking.

“I think I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you.”

You laughed softly. “And if we can’t have our own kids, we can adopt,” you said.

“Absolutely.”

“Take a kid or two out of the system.”

“Absolutely,” he repeated.

You got on your knees and hugged him, the two of you squeezing each other tightly.

“Did I mention that I love you?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? Because I do.”

“I’m sure,” you giggled. “I love you, too.”

When you pulled away, he looked at you. “Don’t blame yourself, baby. Seriously. It’s not your fault.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

You pulled him in for one last kiss before heading to the kitchen to start dinner.

—

You, Steve, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, and Robin all sat in your dining room. For dinner, you made chicken burritos. The kids were all joking around and talking about the arcade when you decided to get their attention.

“So, me and Steve talked today,” you said, clearing your throat. They all looked at you. “I think... we’re gonna stop trying to have a kid for a little while.”

“What?” Lucas asked. “Why?”

“We’ve been trying for four years. I mean, we’ve done IVF-”

“What’s IVF?” Mike asked.

“In vitro. It’s artificial insemination.”

“We’ve done that about six times,” Steve said. “And it hasn’t worked.”

“Nothing we’ve done has worked. So, for now, we’re gonna take a break. I mean, it takes a toll on us.”

They nodded. “Okay. Whenever you get pregnant, that just means we can have someone else to play games with and invite to the arcade,” Lucas said. “Even if we’re older.”

Steve rested his hand on your thigh.

—

Laying in bed and being Steve’s little spoon as he slept caused you to start thinking again.

You didn’t realize it before, but you were more okay with waiting than you thought you would be. Sure, you’d be slightly older when you were pregnant — if you wound up pregnant at all — but you were fine with it.

Knowing that you were with someone like Steve, who didn’t care if you couldn’t have kids, was a relief. You knew you married the right person, and you knew your kids would be right about you two being soulmates.

[clowndaydreams]

Yan!Marvus x Reader

I hope you all like it!

“Can you pass me the potato chips?” You looked over to your companion. Marvus nodded and reached over to get said bag from his side of the couch.

“here ya go.” You grunted a quick thank you to the clown and started to dig in. You had been hanging out with Marvus all day. You still couldn’t believe how friendly you’ve gotten with the superstar since you met him at that concert you went to. It had been a few perigrees since then, but the clown had since made a habit of inviting you over randomly when he was free. You were just happy that he remembered you at all.

Currently though, you were both relaxing on the couch and watching some Slam or Get Culled episodes that he was in. Right now, a season finale was playing. He was the final challenge for that season’s top 2. They had to rap battle him and whoever fared better was the winner.  You glanced over at him. He was in his usual facepaint, but was casually wearing a neon yellow ripped tank top and matching pajama pants with some designer troll logo and ‘JUICY’ all over them. How he managed to look so hot in that would forever elude you. You snapped out of it when he started speaking again.

“u kno, i thought ricard was the better 1 outta those 2.” You pretended to glare at him.

“SPOILERS!” You jokingly huffed, lightly shoving his arm. It didn’t move, as you’d expect.

“LOL! XoD sorry fam, seen dis crap 1000 times alreddy.” Wait, then why did he let you pick this episode? Or even agree to watch this with you? If this was boring you could do something else. And as if he could read your mind, he held up a hand.

“dun worry bout dis. is chill or w/e. butt srsly, u kno who gunna win.”

“Still! I wanna watch it!” You giggled. You both watched on in silence as Marvus was brought on to surprise the contestants.

“How were they behind the scenes?” You asked as you watched the confessionals for both of the contestants.

“ricards moirail b a clown, so me n him knew each other alreddy. he wuz p chill i guess lol.”

“What about Krayaa?”

“turns out she wuz a fangirl. foamin at the mouth n erythng.”

“Really?!” You turned to him to try and see if he was lying. He looked almost bored about it all. Like you were both talking about the weather or something. You wished you could be so relaxed about meeting a rabid fangirl and somehow living to tell the tale. Seadwellers were supposed to be stronger and more durable than landdwellers. At least, that was according Polypa anyway. Huh, you had to remember to check on her later after you got home too.

“ye. she wanted 2 pail after the shoot.” Your jaw dropped. Krayaa was a seadweller! Did he have to listen to her? She could have killed him for not listening!

“Nahhh, no worries,, the contract she signed for the ep woulda had her disqualified and mah bodyguards woulda whooped her b4 she had a chance. ;op” He chuckled. “If she managed 2 get thru them, I aint no wimp.” He added, flexing his arms a little to prove his point. You almost couldn’t stop staring. He had to know what he was doing to you…right? Granted, this was a crush you had no intention of pursuing. If you were speaking honestly, Marvus was a guy who probably didn’t want commitment due to his lifestyle. Even then, he had people throwing themselves at him constantly. People his own species. People who were a lot better fitting with his general aesthetic and not some poor wandering alien that he would DM when he was high when they both should have been sleeping. Your own concepts of relationships and types of love were different. But you could dream, right? You were content with just having him as your designated hot friend anyway. …That did mean you were allowed to drool over him in your mind. As long as it doesn’t get creepy to him. Yeah. You were fine.

“u gud (Y/N)? u tryna lure snacks into ur mouth or smth?” You snapped out of your stupor.

“Ew! Gross! I don’t eat bugs like you weirdos!”

“it aint gross. literally free snacks u can catch. :o)” He laughed.

“Where I’m from they’re gross!” Granted, there were places that did eat crickets and the like on Earth, but you would never tell him that.

“dun knock it till ya try it.” He got up and left the room, returning after a moment with a small box.

“…What is that.” You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was.

“chirp grubs.” He opened it and there they were. Disgusting caramelized crickets.

“I can’t.” You shook your head.

“more 4 me lol.” You looked away as he ate a few of the crickets. You looked back at him when his palmhusk rang. It sounded like a clown horn version of one of his songs. Fitting, honestly.

He glanced at it and rolled his eyes before silencing the phone.

“Who was that?”

“thottie.”

“Oh…” He looked bored again. Not good. What could you talk to him about to keep him interested?

“Uh…You ever get tired of the fans trying to aggressively pail you?” Ok, that wasn’t the best choice for conversation. Your bad.

“i meannn….in the beginning yeah. now its kinda the norm 4 me ufeelme?”

“Yeah, I guess. Does it ever make you feel like you can’t have a relation-er, quadrant?” You assumed it would, but that would also come with fame in general, wouldn’t it? You weren’t sure. Then again, if he didn’t want-

“kinda. i think its kinda funny how i can attract psychos, fans and thots, but not my crushes.” You sat up straight. Marvus had a crush?

“Wait. You…uh…are pale or um….red? for somebody?” You didn’t have the best grasp on quadrant terms.

“lol sumtimes i forget your an alien.” He leaned back onto the couch.

“butt yeah, i have a few crushes at the mo.” He smiled, staring at the ceiling.  Few. He has more than one crush right now. That soft smile said it all. He had it bad.

“…Can you tell me who they are?” He looked over at you and looked sheepish.

“i…dun think is a gud idea.”

“Please? I have to know who the great Marvus Xoloto has a crush on.”

“u kno 1. itll be awk af :o(“ Now you had to know. Now you were thinking about whether or not Marvus had a type. What if they were all mega hot models? Wait! Did he have a crush on Chahut? They would totally have to know each other. Who else did you both know??? He heard of Cirava, but you didn’t think they talked. Who???

“…kk fine. only if u slam a faygo tho.” You gave him a look.

“Isn’t Faygo…not for non-clowns?”

“is just us. whos gunna kno?”

“You promise nobody’s gonna know?”

“on my life. u slam a faygo, n ill tell u who my flush be.” You thought it over. You remembered tasting the stuff at clown church when you went you went with Chahut that one time. Just a sip left you a bit tipsy. A whole bottle may have rendered you unable to be coherent enough to even process who his flush crush was. Would it be worth it? You felt a choice coming on. Either way you had to drink a certain amount in order to maybe try and learn this random troll’s identity. The question was, do you try and counter his offer or just slam the entire bottle and hope for the best?

…

It would be better to respect your own limits. A bunch of your friends had lectured you a few times over putting yourself out just to potentially make a friend. This would piss them off and would probably not end in your favor even if you did decide to just go with it anyway.

“How much faygo do I have to drink?”

“hm…” He got up, went to the kitchen and got a small can of Grape Faygo, a normal bottle for one and a whole 2 liter bottle. “imma b nice. u get a choice. u gotta try 2 finish the can. u get 1 q with the name if u finish the can. Smol bottle gets u 2 qs and the name n the 2L gets u as many qs as u liek. fair enough 2 u?”

…Now you wanted to chug the 2 liter. You haven’t even seen anyone try to down that other than the Grand High Blood once when you took Karako to clown church for the first time. But that guy was a clown and he is HUGE. You, not so much. But, you chose to respect yourself for once. You’d see how you felt after the small can and go from there. You picked it up, opened the can and took a deep breathe. Powers that be, let this not wreck you and let this answer be worth it. If he cops out with his answers, you would try to hurt him. You started chugging. You did your best to try and treat it like a shot like Cirava taught you so you wouldn’t taste the overly sweet flavor too much. After a moment of light agony and attempting to not drown in the soda, you reached the end of the can. You slammed it onto the coffee table and started panting. Ok, you weren’t feeling woozy like before. Maybe those tiny sips when you went to clown church helped your body get used to it.

“u gunna try the otha bottles?” You managed to shake your head. You weren’t gonna do that again. Your head started hurting. You looked over at him. Were his eyes always so vibrantly purple? Woah, now they’re flashing purple. What the heck? Was this Faygo high? You now understood why all the other clowns were so goofy after drinking a cup of this stuff. Crap, now your head was starting to hurt.

“Wh-Who….who is it..?” You started feeling like you were gonna pass out. You laid down on the couch. You needed to close your eyes. That was way too much for you. You felt Marvus pick you up into his arms.

“ye…after u wake up bb.” Wake up? Wait, did he just call you a pet name?! You were about to question him when he tilted his head.

“dangg,, u managed 2 stay awake with chuckles and faygo? ur stronger than i thought. Soz bout this babes.” His eyes became blindingly vibrant again and you blacked out.

[fearsfelt-blog]

beep beep, heeeere’s bobby as penned & loved by kat ! take a look under the cut for his super snazzy intro and more 

[ cismale, he/him, jacob elordi, twenty-two ] there goes ROBERT KEENE walking down center street ! i can’t believe they’ve been living in derry for TWENTY-TWO YEARS. last i’ve heard, they’re AWARE of the existence of pennywise. i wonder if BOBBY is going to stay and fight or watch the town burn to the ground. perhaps it’s because HE reminds me of SINKING MELANCHOLIA FEEDING NOSTALGIA, DEEP PURPLE ON REPEAT, A PLATE OF HOMEMADE CHERRY PIE, but i think they might FLEE. either way, they’ll never be the same after this year. [ kat, she/her, 21, gmt, n/a ]

listen . . my creepy smol 6′3′’ and a bit tall child, i could ramble on for ages but i’m trying to stay focused. anyway, let’s start!

background -

true it stans probably already recognised his last name: keene ! as in norbert keene, the guy with big glasses who works as a pharmacist at the center street drug store and i’m pretty sure he owns it in the movie version so i guess i’ll go with that ! yup, mr. keene is his grandpa, still kicking it but he can’t really work anymore cause of old age so who does the job? ding ding, bobby here to help. 

now that makes greta keene, legend to call bev a ‘little shit’ and a ‘slut’ in the same breath, his mama! (FUN FACT: in the book she died at age 18 bc of drugs and booze and a car accident but in the movie she remained unsuccesful in life doing her father’s job at the drug store). greta might have peed rose water in high school and lived a great life in a pretty house, but instead of making it out of town and into a good college, she stayed. first, doing plenty of assistant jobs, shady jobs at the side. briefly, life started to look grand bc she started an affair with her boss, a well known attorney at the law firm she was working at, but things came to a quick end when she got pregnant at nineteen. his father, 25 at the time, didn’t love that, broke it off and well . . greta got fired and paid off to please keep quiet and raise the child on her own. thankfully, the keenes aren’t poor and were able to keep up a good life standard for their daughter. during the first years of bobby’s life, his mum was a good stay at home mum, really bored and cranky, but she at least loved the little bug. 

so he was raised by his mum at his grandparents house, a good house, a decent house, but not perfect. when bobby was put into kindergarten, his mum started looking for jobs again, eventually ending up as a waitress making poor money and choices, then as the right hand of her father as the drug store. surely not the life she ever wanted for herself. that was only the start of her manners growing frozen, cold, bored to death with no goals.

bobby had a relatively normal childhood despite his mother’s many adventures. he’s always been on the quiet side, a sensitive child who feels things that aren’t there to others. call it a presence, intrusive thoughts or simply tingly senses of something dark about to grow. though his interest in other kids , playing with them , never really developed. he was fully invested in what his mama called creep stuff, playing in the dirt, analysing roadkill, asking questions only an adult would ask. that kind of behaviour continued into middle school.

at the age of six, he got a younger sibling, yay ! not another baby tho, no, a three year old, the daughter of his mother’s best high school friends who had just passed away in a tragic manner. greta and the keenes took in her little girl and ever since then, bobby slowly started to grow to like company. he feels very strongly about his sister, despite not really feeling strongly about anyone ever.

around that time, the visions started: he sees, what it does. what it wants to do, wants to do with him, wants him to do. in a way he’s sort of the herald of clown, a bit of a vessel and before he knew what was going on, he thought he was a psychic or some kind of stuff. though already being a bit on the wacky side, he’ll eventually have to ask himself if the base of wanting to hurt people hasn’t always been there and derry’s famous presence isn’t just encouraging him. think dexter’s dark passenger ! that’s what it feels like.

during his second year of high school, grandma keene died, rip that good old woman ! he was sad to lose a constant in his life and things seemed to be shaken up a bit at home, as the sadness impacted everyone in a different way: his mum started going out again more, meeting shady men at shady bars, growing more and more distant from her kids. his grandpa, however, no matter how cynical or weird people found him, remained good with the kids. he’s taught bobby a lot of norms and morals of society he just never quite . . understood.

this guy wasn’t mr. popular in high school, think somewhat of a jughead jones type. he’s weird, he’s a weirdo, he doesn’t fit --- BUT have u seen his face?? pretty. so he always got a lot of attention from the girlies, even though it never really interested him beyond surface level. in fact, he ditched his prom date to go to burger king a town away with his best friends.

he graduated, decided to take over his grandpa’s position as a pharmacist and is now an apprentice learning as much as he can, y’know it’s not exactly his dream job but it’s fun and he gets a lot of the town gossip, which is a bonus. 

on the side, he’s already planning his escape, drawing pictures at night of things he’s seen that could be the clown. the most re-occuring one: a weeping bride, all black and muddy with rotten flesh, crying and asking for her husband and son. the stories of pennywise came to him during a tale of his grandpa, who’s been around for way longer and some final research on whether that could be. bobby’s often re-visiting places of brutal happenings in the dark, trying to make his tingly senses pick up anything. though 6′3′’, that boy is a little scaredy cat and will flee.

personality -

like i said, think jughead jones, john cleaver from i am not a serial killer or dexter morgan

he’s a scorpio sun with a virgo moon ! very distanced with emotions, analytical

a bisexual legend, sort of closeted as it’s a small town, but ! who writes straight charas in 2019

tw /// has a history of self harm, inflicted to distract him from bad thoughts

loves loves working out, obviously, bc it helps him channel his emotions and distracts him

is looking to move out but doesn’t want to leave his sister behind

doesn’t get if u flirt with him

how to win his heart? vintage music, homemade food, pie !!

i know that was semi long but i have soo much more i could write down regarding his family dynamics, darker self, etc, but maybe a bio? will come? stay tuned. anyway if u read all this ur braver than the us marines ! like this to plot and i’ll hit u up baby beans. or slide into my dms haha and then what.  BTW i already have wanted plots here and stats here.

[sweater-soo]

baeksoo - memory loss? i love ur writing btw 💕

♡♡♡

this is gonna be based on a concept i’ve been trying to write for a while. hope you like it!

The fridge is filled with leftovers.

For the past month, Kyungsoo’s been cooking too much food. Meals for two, even though he’s been single for--god, ages now. Long enough that he shouldn’t be making this mistake. And he normally doesn’t; it’s just a recent thing, this confusion.

He doesn’t know how it started. Things have been weird in general lately. His friends keep referencing things he doesn’t understand, mentioning things he wasn’t around for. Or he doesn’t think he was, at least. Jongdae’s wedding is kind of dubious, because Kyungsoo was allegedly a groomsman, and all he can recall of the whole thing are little snapshots, like something from a night of heavy drinking.

He sighs and grabs a plastic container. Inside is leftover gimbap, frustratingly devoid of cucumber for some reason, because he can’t seem to make it any other way. It’ll have to do.

When he gets dishware from the cupboard, it takes him a second to realize he’s grabbed two plates. And he doesn’t quite know why, but it makes his heart sink a little, makes his throat close up around a half-formed sob. He closes his eyes and leans heavily against the counter.

“Get yourself together,” he mutters. “This is ridiculous.”

He picks up two pairs of chopsticks from the drawer. The wordless shout of frustration echoes through the empty apartment.

--

“Hey, have we met?”

The stranger at the bus stop has silver hair and droopy little eyes that make him look slightly cartoonish. Like an anime character, maybe. His head is cocked to the side in a puppy-like way. It’s oddly endearing.

“I doubt it,” says Kyungsoo. “I’d probably remember you.”

The stranger laughs. “Because of the hair, right?” he says.

“Well, that too,” says Kyungsoo, “but mostly because you’re cute.” He feels his face heating up at his unexpected brazenness and lets out a laugh, ducking his head. “Sorry, uh. That was--”

“Oh! No, don’t worry about it.”

Kyungsoo looks up and finds the stranger grinning at him, teeth sharp and pearly white, eyes mischievous. It’s infectious, and Kyungsoo finds himself smiling back easily.

“I’m Baekhyun,” says the stranger. “And you’re not bad yourself.”

“Kyungsoo.”

Something strange passes over Baekhyun’s face. He frowns. “Are you sure we haven’t met?” he says.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, saying again, “I’d remember,” this time with more conviction than he really feels.

--

“Why do you keep bugging me about dating?” Kyungsoo asks after they finish their second round of drinks. “I can understand with Jongdae, since that’s just a married person thing, but you, too?”

Chanyeol has that shifty look on his face, that I’m-hiding-something-but-can’t-lie-convincingly-so-I’ll-just-avoid-the-subject-instead one that didn’t work when they were in high school and certainly won’t work now. “We’re just worried,” he says. “You seem lonely. We’re looking out for you, y’know?”

“I’m not lonely.” Kyungsoo pours another shot of soju into Chanyeol’s glass. “Anyway, you can stop worrying. I’m seeing someone now. Um. Kind of.”

Chanyeol lights up, beaming eagerly. “Yeah?”

“It’s too early to call it anything. We’ve been on a few dates. But it’s--I dunno, it’s going pretty well.” A soft smile pulls at his lips. “I think I really like him.”

And he does. Baekhyun is funny and charming and sweet, easy with his affection, transparent with his feelings. He kisses like he’s making a promise, and his playful smiles and flirtatious texts are always the best things about Kyungsoo’s week.

Chanyeol nods. “Good! So what’s his name?” he asks, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Baekhyun.”

Immediately, Chanyeol starts coughing as the soju he just inhaled goes down the wrong way. It takes a moment for him to recover, and his eyes are red and teary as he says, “Um, who?”

“Byun Baekhyun?” Kyungsoo furrows his brow. “Do you know him?”

There’s a deer-in-headlights look on Chanyeol’s face. He pulls his phone from his pocket and gives it a look of obviously fake surprise. “Oh, wow, look at the time.” He chuckles nervously. “Sorry, gotta go. I need to, um--yeah, sorry.” He leaves Kyungsoo with more than enough money to pay for the drinks, then vanishes. It’s more than a little conspicuous.

On his way out, Kyungsoo texts Jongdae to ask if he knows why the name Byun Baekhyun nearly gave Chanyeol a heart attack. All he sees for three days is Read at 9:17pm.

--

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Kim

Byun Baekhyun has had Do Kyungsoo erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.

Thank You.

LACUNA INC.

“There’s one from yours, too,” Jongdae says quietly as Kyungsoo stares at the card stock. “Same thing, but the names are switched.”

Kyungsoo’s been staring at the text for so long it’s all gone out of focus. He wants to ask if it’s a joke, but somehow he doesn’t think it is.

“How--” His voice is hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long were we together?”

It takes a moment for Jongdae to answer. Then, “Almost two years.”

It’s an ice pick right in the chest. Kyungsoo takes a deep, unsteady breath and tries to get a hold of himself. He thinks about Baekhyun’s laugh, the familiar touch of his hands, how every moment with him feels so comfortable and right. And now those feelings seem like a betrayal, all based on something terrible. On a mistake.

“Was I happy?” he asks, searching Jongdae’s expression desperately.

Jongdae has this pitying frown. He rests a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “For a while.”

--

Baekhyun squeezes Kyungsoo’s hand. “You’ve been really quiet today,” he says. “What’s wrong? Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says quickly, even though he kind of is. Baekhyun had the procedure done first, ran away from their problems instead of fixing them. But that was a different Baekhyun. This Baekhyun--his Baekhyun--hasn’t left him. It isn’t fair to harbor so much resentment like this. “Something happened with one of my friends,” he says. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Baekhyun looks skeptical, but he shrugs. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

Kyungsoo smiles weakly. On a sudden impulse, he leans in and presses his lips to Baekhyun’s, just wanting that feeling of rightness to come back. And it does, in a way, but there’s a bitter taste to it. He kisses him more insistently, Baekhyun’s mouth opening with a gentle sigh. It’s all still salvageable, Kyungsoo tells himself. It doesn’t have to be like before.

Baekhyun’s hands cup Kyungsoo’s face gently, like he’s something precious. Then it’s just warm tongue. Soft lips. Quiet humming. All familiar in a way that’s started to seem more terrible than reassuring, leaving Kyungsoo to wonder if he’s just going to keep repeating the same mistakes.

writing angst for these two hurts my heart a little, haha. but i hope you like it, anon♡

(also, this is like... really obviously just taken from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. im horribly uncreative lmao)